He Stole My Womb, Lost All

he cloying sweetness of the air freshener someone had sprayed. It was a ghost of t

he edge of the bed, a bowl of my favorite porridge in

e," he cooed, his voice the

ous control for passionate love? How many times had I seen his brutality as a shield to protect me, rather than the cage it trul

non-existent smudge from the corner of my mouth with

e it might crack my face. "Actually," I said, my voic

ecial ringtone, a soft, melodic chime I'

eaned over, snatched the p

idening. "A new tone? Wh

"Just a business associate. Nothing important." He took the phone from my han

me grew more frequent, more insistent, a frantic, digital plea for his attention. I watched him from the corner of

of the city's most exclus

nter console and handing it back to him. "You

hone, so desperate to appease his real mistress, that he didn't even notice the a

d entrance, he was already d

. And there, projected onto a massive screen th

f two bodies, writhing i

fully obscured by shad

s not. It was

the hall's state-of-the-art sound

color. The phone slipped from his gra

ated seat in the front row. I glanc

-wife hasn't learned her lesson about staying out of the spotlight. Someone must